


for your eyes only

by Fountain_Quill



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Asahi is one sexy spy, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Minor Violence, Nishinoya as quartermaster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 11:18:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5537903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fountain_Quill/pseuds/Fountain_Quill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s a good thing that Asahi has finished his brandy, because he startles, rather violently as far as agents go. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sets the empty glass down on Nishinoya’s desk. “W-what?”</p>
<p>“I said that you’re my favorite agent. You’re the easiest to work with, the calmest out of everyone, and good at taking advice.” And the best-looking.""</p>
<p>(Nishinoya is the weapons supplier for the Karasuno Agency. Asahi is the attractive spy who's held his attention for ages. A getting-together fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	for your eyes only

**Author's Note:**

> For the asanoya secret santa exchange on tumblr
> 
> This one's for you, marseeargh!

“Agent 003 here to see you, sir.”

“About damn time,” Nishinoya mutters under his breath before setting his shoulders back and adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “Send him in,” he says, slightly louder than before. He keeps his low-backed chair turned away from the door and continues watching the traffic crawl down on the streets of Miyagi. 

He hears the door open wider and the sound of footsteps pause before his desk. “Agent 003,” Nishinoya states impassively, still resting his elbows on his knees and watching cars inch through the gridlock of rush hour. “You may go, Kinoshita.” The door clicks softly as Kinoshita leaves the room.

“Agent N.” 

The deep voice is unmistakable, and has certainly been the source of many nightmares for many individuals over the last several years. Nishinoya allows himself a small sort of satisfied smile at the thought of how many bad dreams he has indirectly caused. He rises and turns to face the agent, extremely conscious of how he intends to appear. 

Black pants, black dress shirt, black shoes, all pressed and polished to the point of perfection. He prefers an undercut, and lets the rest hang as it likes. He wears two small bronze hoops in his right ear, courtesy of a bullet to his chest that had failed to kill him five years before. His left arm and the left side of his neck are covered with gnarled scar tissue from an incident three years ago involving a chemical factory explosion. He walks with a permanent limp due to his metal knee, a result of a shootout in Singapore when he had first joined the Karasuno Agency. At just under a hundred and sixty centimeters, he isn’t known as the terror of the organization because of his size. Nishinoya folds his arms and appraises the man in front of him.

003 stands casually, with one hand tucked into the pocket of his black slacks and the other holding an ebony jacket that’s been swung over his shoulder. He’s wearing a dark gray button-down with the sleeves are rolled messily up to his elbows, showing off his not-unimpressive forearms. The buttons of his shirt seem to be complaining about the amount of muscle that’s beneath them, based on the strain that shows on the fabric. He flexes his shoulders and Nishinoya is briefly concerned that there will be buttons flying shortly. 

“You look like you need a drink, 003.”

The taller man huffs a laugh and places his jacket on the chair beside Nishinoya’s at the window. “I’ll take your best cognac.” He absentmindedly loosens his hair in its bun, allowing a few pieces to fall free. “And Asahi’s fine, N.” 

Nishinoya quirks an eyebrow at the familiarity, but doesn’t say anything as he pulls out a decanter and two glasses and pours them each a fairly liberal amount. 

He turns to hand Asahi his glass, and motions for him to sit. They both stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows for a moment, and as he drops back into his own chair, Nishinoya takes a moment to truly study Asahi. The agent is exhausted; that much is clear from his reclining position and loose joints, but he’s looked drawn for months now. Every time Asahi comes in for an upgrade or a different gun, his shoulders droop lower and lower and the wrinkle between his eyebrows grows. 

It’s something Nishinoya appreciates about Asahi. The man boasts no façades when it’s just the two of them together in a room. Whatever the man is feeling that day is the expression he wears. His faces are complicated things, however, because Asahi is a complicated person. Not easy to read like agents 001 and 009. They’ve worked together long enough that Nishinoya keeps a conscious mental catalogue of Asahi’s expressions. He isn’t pleased to see that joy, or some variance of it, isn’t a main feature these days. 

He looks miserable, Nishinoya realizes.

He clears his throat to make a statement to that effect, but before the words can form on his tongue, Asahi draws the glass away from his lips and asks, “Do you like this?”

Nishinoya frowns and peers into the dark liquor. “The brandy? I should hope so. It’s the French ambassador’s best bottle.”

Asahi chuckles lowly and shakes his head. “No. I mean.” He gestures in a wide circle with the glass, the brandy sloshing just a little. “This. The office. Being the weapons guy. Being a spy. Being N.”

Nishinoya brings his glass up to his mouth and sips while pondering the question. He likes this view, from the one-hundred-and-first floor, definitely. Growing up in a world of tall people, he feels powerful and limitless in his scope when he can see the world stretching out beneath him. It also gives him a sense of what they’re really fighting for here, at the agency. 

He likes his guns too. He knows every one of them by weight and by touch, could identify any gun from the last two hundred years with his eyes closed. He likes the endless number of arms he can get his hands on, and he likes knowing the lives of the agents he presents the weapons to. Every single item they pick is a testament to the lives they lead. When little Hitoka went away with the sturdiest crossbow he had, Nishinoya had to take a moment, leaning against his desk and gasping with laughter, and rethink the agents he worked with.

Being a spy, though. Being N. He hasn’t thought much about it in a long time. Not really since he joined, if he’s being honest with himself, not even when he was doing chest compressions on one of their newer spies in a botched mission a year ago. Agent 012 had survived, thankfully, which was probably why Nishinoya hadn’t stopped to think about what he was doing with his life. 

“It’s good when I get to work with my favorite agents,” he answers. 

Asahi laughs, the tiredness fading from his expression for a second. “And who are your favorite agents?”

Nishinoya smiles back, glad to see something like life back in Asahi’s eyes. “Suga, obviously.” Asahi nods in agreement. Suga is the most even-tempered of them all, and boasts the longest record at Karasuno. “And Hinata.” The youngest of the agents, Hinata nevertheless was an insane crack-shot and invaluable in a firefight. “And you. You’re definitely my favorite agent.”

It’s a good thing that Asahi has finished his brandy, because he startles, rather violently as far as agents go. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sets the empty glass down on Nishinoya’s desk. “W-what?”

“I said that you’re my favorite agent. You’re the easiest to work with, the calmest out of everyone, and good at taking advice.” _And the best-looking._ “You would not believe how many agents try to tell me how to do my job. Me, the master of everything explosive! Tanaka tried to teach me how to throw bolas the other day and finished the session entirely tangled up. I left him like that for Daichi to find.”

Asahi stares at him. “I’m your favorite agent,” he repeats slowly. He’s got eyes like a kid on Christmas morning but the rest of his face is screaming disbelief. 

Nishinoya hides a smile by throwing back the rest of his brandy. He won’t admit it out loud, but he takes a certain level of malicious pleasure in throwing Asahi off. The man spends half the day walking around in silence, unless he’s terrifying some criminal, and the other half sitting quietly and looking as small as he can. It’s nice to get something else out of him than pleasantries and silence. 

His eyes stray to the strands of hair falling from Asahi’s bun. Asahi is still too busy processing this new information to notice Nishinoya’s gaze. It’s something he’ll never confess, but as far as Nishinoya can tell, the only person he’s ever had feelings for is Asahi. Nishinoya’s had plenty of flings, of course, but never something requiring feeling or commitment. They try to keep out of relationships as best they can in Karasuno, because they never end well. Of course, Nishinoya’s seen how close Hinata and the other new recruit – Kageyama – stand, so he’s fairly certain that those rules are being bent in other departments. 

_It’s not in the cards_ , Nishinoya reminds himself angrily. His job as quartermaster is to make sure every trick an agent pulls goes well and gets that agent out alive. _That’s it_ , he thinks. Every bullet fired, every blade thrown, every dart flung, depends on him and his ability to keep everything functioning.

Asahi’s damn good-looking, though.

Nishinoya bristles internally at the path his mind has suddenly taken. _This is a fellow agent, Yuu. Get your mind on track._ “Is there something you need to get off your chest, 003?” He winces at the unintentional return to protocol. 

Asahi arches a well-defined brow at him, obviously noting the title. “I, uh…” He pauses and casts a glance at Nishinoya before seeming to rethink whatever was initially on his mind. He’s still got something of a dazzled look after finding out he’s Nishinoya’s favorite. “I need some advice.”

“On?”

Asahi appears to fiddle with an idea, because his eyes dart away from Nishinoya’s as he pulls at the tie keeping his hair in place. Nervous reaction, Nishinoya thinks, because they’re spies and spies are really damn good at identifying psychological states. Asahi rolls a shoulder as he puts his hair back into a looser bun before leaning forward to rest his chin on his knuckles. “On…” – he locks eyes with Nishinoya for a moment – “…my gun,” he finishes, something like anger flashing in his eyes before his expression returns to something neutral.

Nishinoya lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Sure,” he says, oddly disappointed. “Sure. Give it here.” 

He accepts the gun from Asahi and glances at him as he turns it over in his hand. “Asahi-san?” he says.

Asahi expression softens at his word choice. “Hmm?”

“Call me Nishinoya.”

∞∞∞

There aren’t many agents who can claim to call Nishinoya by any other title than “N,” but those that do are the ones that Nishinoya responds immediately to. Asahi, annoyingly, learns this little fact extraordinarily quickly and sneaks in Nishinoya’s name whenever he has the chance. It makes Nishinoya shiver and his stomach flip, and he finds himself simultaneously irritated and delighted when it happens.

His favorite times are when Asahi seems to murmur Nishinoya’s name to himself in the midst of a conversation, like it’s his little secret. He has to leave a conference weak-kneed and heart racing after he hears Asahi sigh his name beside him. It’s a sound that won’t leave his mind and crops up at the most obnoxious times, namely every moment that he has to be professional. 

Telling Asahi to call him by his name is the best decision of his entire life up to this point.

∞∞∞

It’s several weeks later that Nishinoya finds himself trying to jam his body and Asahi behind some crates amid a hail of bullets. Little surprise, really, that the weapons dealers they’re trying to capture are so against being caught, considering the business they’re doing is going to get them locked away for a good long while, or worse. 

It had been going so nicely too, until Nishinoya had misjudged a leap and came crashing down through a ceiling vent into the midst of what looked like a business deal being made. He scrambles to his feet and sprints down a hall, hurling smoke pellets behind him, before finally colliding with Asahi and practically knocking the agent off his feet. “We gotta go!” he shouts, grabbing Asahi’s hand tightly and hurtling down the hall. They sprint into a large warehouse filled with metal shipping containers and crates, and Nishinoya swears colorfully as they garner the attention of a multitude of burly, gun-toting mercenaries. They manage a few shots before diving behind one of the bigger crates.

Nishinoya draws his gun and holds it close to his face, one hand wrapped around the grip and his finger on the trigger. He tries to slow down his breathing and think of a way out of the situation that doesn’t involve a suicide run. He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t think about Asahi beyond the fact that his hand is still clutched in Nishinoya’s. 

It’s only after Asahi groans very quietly that Nishinoya sneaks a peek at the spy next to him and spots the blood trailing down his thigh from a lucky shot. He makes a snap decision.

“That’s IT!” he roars, making Asahi jump and drop his hand. “I have been shot at for the LAST. TIME.”

Nishinoya punches the cartridge out of his handgun and reloads it before kicking the lid off the crate at their feet and digging through the contents with one hand, careful to keep his head well below the line of fire. “C’mon, c’mon,” he mutters. “Give Papa something to use.” These are weapons guys, after all. They’ve got to have some good stuff. 

He’s aware of Asahi watching him closely, aware of how Asahi is trying to keep his breathing steady. Nishinoya’s seen the wound though, and he knows they’re out of time. He shoves packing aside a bit more frantically, every sense on edge.

His hand catches on something heavy and metal. “Bingo!” he cries softly, and yanks out an AK-74. A couple swishes of his hand reveals an AK-101, which he pulls out and hands to Asahi. He darts back to press his back against the crate, tucking his handgun into its holster, and runs a quick check of both guns.

“They’re loaded,” Nishinoya giggles to himself. “Of course they’re loaded!” He sounds a little maniacal, he knows, but he’s allowed to sound a little crazy in the face of almost certain death. 

“Okay. Okay, okay, okay,” he mumbles, and turns to Asahi. The man’s face is paler than Nishinoya would like, but in the situation, there isn’t much he can do about it at this exact moment. “You know how to use one of these, 003?” 

Asahi barks a strained laugh. “Obviously. You wouldn’t pass anyone through the weapons section of the training course until they could handle every gun known to man.”

Nishinoya suppresses a grin and snaps back, “Every gun known to the _standard military man_ , 003. I’m no commoner.” He hands one of the rifles to Asahi and makes sure his fingers are positioned correctly. “Okay,” he repeats. “On my mark.”

He gets into a crouch and motions for Asahi to stay down. Nishinoya reaches into the belt he always wears underneath his jacket and pulls out three grenades. He holds three in his right hand and yanks out the pins with his teeth, his left hand clutched around the trigger of the rifle. Spitting the pins, he commands, “Cover me!” and leaps to his feet to throw the grenades. Asahi rises a moment before him and starts firing off rounds, a guttural scream accompanying the motion. Nishinoya whips his arm in a wide arc, releasing each grenade at a precise moment, and grabs Asahi and drags him down with him behind the cover of the crate. 

They cover their ears not a moment too soon, because not a second later, three explosions sound, almost on top of one another, and then Nishinoya is pushing Asahi along towards the exit and running backwards, his finger squeezing the trigger and yells sounding from the mess they’ve left in their wake.

Asahi stumbles in front of him, and Nishinoya whips around to yank the agent back to his feet. “Oh no you don’t!” he hollers, and either the fear of Nishinoya’s voice or the adrenaline from the chase puts energy back into Asahi’s bones, because Asahi is up and running faster than if Nishinoya had pumped his veins full of epinephrine. 

Nishinoya covers their escape with a lot of bullets and a few more grenades, and is delighted to find a use for the throwing knives that he always keeps strapped to his biceps. They burst out into the dark of the night to find a black car purring and waiting for them, Agent 002 at the wheel. Nishinoya whips open the back door of the sedan and shoves Asahi inside, leaping in after him and shrieking at 002, “Go, Suga, for god’s sake!”

The acceleration of the car slams the door shut behind Nishinoya, and for a moment he’s too breathless to do anything but try not to barf on the black carpet of the floor. 

He hears Asahi moan and suddenly snaps back to attention, angry with himself for neglecting to take care of the incapacitated agent. He leans forward to the front of the car and places the two rifles in the empty front seat and snags the first aid kit (though it’s more like an ambulance in a box) from the floor of the passenger side. He grabs Suga’s shoulder in thanks and ducks back into the backseat.

“It’s gonna be fine,” he murmurs to Asahi as he tries to situate himself on the floor. Asahi is leaning against the far back door, his long legs stretched out across the leather of the seat. Fortunately, his wound is closer to Nishinoya and not pressed against the back of the seat. 

Nishinoya whips out a knife and sets to work cutting off the leg of Asahi’s pants at mid-thigh. As the wound is revealed, he breathes a sigh of relief. The bullet had gone straight through the outer layers of muscle and left no metal behind. “You’re gonna be fine,” he tells Asahi, and makes sure to look him right in the eye. Asahi nods once and then lets his head tilt against the headrest of the backseat. 

Nishinoya injects a general nerve block into the area and is starting to clean it up when Suga speaks from the front. “Director U’s going to be pissed,” he says in his light, easy voice. It’s hard to believe how many people that man has killed, Nishinoya thinks idly. 

“Because I fucked up the mission or because I broke protocol?” Nishinoya inquires, keeping a careful eye on Asahi as the nerve block takes effect. Asahi gives him a sleepy smile and resituates his head to a more comfortable position. His breathing is still shallow and uneven, but Nishinoya thinks it’s mostly from the adrenaline leaving his body. Nishinoya grabs Asahi’s wrist and presses two fingers down over his pulse point, reassured to find that it’s steady albeit a bit fast. 

“Mmm,” Suga hums, “You did call me by my name, didn’t you?” He takes a hard right and glances in the rearview mirror, checking for tails. “He’s going to be pissed because he has to bring in the big guns instead of getting this all done quietly.”

Nishinoya chuckles despite himself. The Nekoma crew knows what they’re doing when it comes to making sure everything’s covered. Ukai might be mad, but at least this weapons ring stops tonight, despite the royal fuck-up that just occurred. 

A sudden grasp around his wrist pulls Nishinoya’s attention away from Suga. He glances down to see Asahi’s fingers wrapping their way around his own, and raises his eyes to meet the other man’s.

“Are you okay?” Asahi whispers. He’s got such big, soft eyes. His entire expression screams concern, and Nishinoya finds himself pleased at the worry over his wellbeing. He mentally kicks himself. 

“I’m not the one who got shot, big guy.” 

“No, but you fell through the ceiling, didn’t you?” He waves his other hand at Nishinoya’s plaster-covered shirt. 

Nishinoya shrugs and runs his thumb carefully along Asahi’s knuckles, noting Asahi’s stuttering exhale and his own change in breathing. “I’ll be bruised in the morning, but it’s fine. Nothing life-threatening.” His voice is strangely quiet and rough. “Now relax and let me take care of you. You’re my favorite agent, after all.”

Asahi stares him down for a long moment before squeezing his hand and letting go, letting his fingers trail lightly down Nishinoya’s. He tucks one arm behind his head and doesn’t take his eyes off of Nishinoya for several moments. Attempting to ignore him and calm himself down, Nishinoya breathes deeply once, twice, before threading the needle and beginning the stitches.

∞∞∞

The moment in the car marks a change in the dynamic of their relationship.

Nishinoya finds himself aware of a thousand small touches a day that he doesn’t remember happening previous to that night. He’s not sure if there’s an increase in them or if he was just too stupid to notice them before, but now he’s cataloguing each and every touch he receives from Asahi, every glance, and every smile. 

There’s days when Asahi will hand him paperwork and their fingers will meet during the exchange, and Nishinoya will be too surprised (despite the last twenty times it’s happened) to do anything other than blink and nod. Asahi will brush by him in the hallways, or casually lean against his arm when they’re crowded together at Nishinoya’s desk going over new blueprints for weapons, or smile when Nishinoya yells at him and corrects his grip on the crossbow for the tenth time. 

Nishinoya isn’t any good at touching, or subtlety for that matter, so he doesn’t do much more than receive Asahi’s attention like an idiot. He knows he’s fucking it up on his end, but he finds himself counting on the touches and looking forward to them, and he hopes that Asahi’s getting the message that Nishinoya likes it. 

∞∞∞

Several weeks pass, though, and the touches slowly start fading. Nishinoya craves them like a drug, and starts thinking of ways that he can get Asahi to keep touching him without outright acknowledging his affection for the agent. 

∞∞∞

They’re standing in the massive catacombs of weaponry beneath a building twenty miles away from Karasuno when the other shoe finally drops. Nishinoya’s wandering through the narrow halls with Asahi trailing behind him as the quartermaster yanks rifles and cables and various other weapons from their places as he goes. He’s pulling arms for various agents and needed a backup (and an extra set of hands) when he went, because Ukai outright refuses to let him fetch a bunch of state-of-the-art weaponry on his own. _At least it’s not Agent 011 again,_ Nishinoya thinks.

“Anything you need while we’re here, Asahi-san? You didn’t put in any requests with the rest of the agents.”

There’s a low murmur behind him, and Nishinoya abruptly pauses and pivots on his heel to hear Asahi better. 

“What was tha –” He’s cut off when a body collides with his and knocks him to the ground, the guns clattering away as they hit the ground, and Nishinoya finds his nose inches away from Asahi’s. The sudden stop had caused the bigger man to stumble and fall in an attempt to stop his own momentum. Nishinoya feels his mouth going dry as his pulse speeds up, and Asahi’s face is quickly blooming bright red as he stutters in apology. His eyes won’t leave Nishinoya’s, though. 

“S-sorry,” he mumbles, and Nishinoya can’t tear his eyes away from Asahi’s mouth. “You stopped really fast.” 

Nishinoya feels his jaw working as he tries to think of something to say, but all that’s filling his mind is the warm scent of Asahi and the feeling of his chest pressing against Nishinoya’s. The rapid thudding of Asahi’s heart is almost hard enough for Nishinoya to hear it out loud rather than just feel it against his sternum. Asahi has propped himself up on his elbows, and Nishinoya is hyper-aware of their presence on either side of his head. 

Asahi blushes a darker shade of red at Nishinoya’s silence and mutters something else in contrition. He makes to get up, but before he can do anything more than shift his weight to his arms, Nishinoya grabs Asahi’s face with one hand and yanks him down into a kiss. 

Asahi makes a startled noise against Nishinoya’s lips and pulls back quickly. His breath stutters out across Nishinoya’s cheeks and his eyes are wide. Nishinoya feels his stomach drop, but before he can apologize or try to wriggle away from the situation, Asahi has pinned him to the ground, one hand in his hair and the other gripping his waist tightly, pressing his lips to Nishinoya’s. 

Nishinoya moans and tilts his head, opening his mouth as he goes. He runs his tongue along Asahi’s bottom lip, and is rewarded by Asahi’s hips jerking against his and the tightening of the hand in his hair. He slides his fingers up into Asahi’s hair and pulls it loose from its bun, savoring the way the soft strands feel against his fingertips. 

They break apart a few moments later. “Shit,” Nishinoya breathes. Asahi is a gorgeous, disheveled mess above him. He’s breathing just as hard as Nishinoya is, and the pounding of his heart has gotten impossibly faster. 

“Sorry,” Asahi says once more. He shifts and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear before resettling above Nishinoya. “You surprised me. I didn’t think you…felt that way. I couldn’t tell, with how you’ve been reacting to me.”

“Are you _kidding_ me?!” Nishinoya grins up at him. “You’re my favorite agent.”

Asahi blushes again, but can’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. “So…you do feel the same way about me, as I do concerning you?”

“Yes,” Nishinoya answers, and feels embarrassment surface at the strength of his answer. “I’m just…bad at showing it. I don’t do touching like you do.”

Asahi lowers his forehead to Nishinoya’s. “Then I guess I’ll just have to be good enough for both of us.”

Nishinoya dearly wants to kiss him again, but they’ve got a schedule to stick to. He nudges Asahi off of him and rolls to his stomach to fetch the guns that have slid beneath the shelves. As he stands up, Asahi takes some of the weaponry with a lopsided smile, his ears still pink. “You want to grab dinner after this?” he asks.

“Absolutely,” Nishinoya answers and reaches up on tiptoes to kiss Asahi’s cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to so much James Bond music for this thing. It was fantastic. Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
